


Did You Just Propose Marriage Or...?

by terminallyToreadork



Series: Nope [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 11:41:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminallyToreadork/pseuds/terminallyToreadork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You don’t know why the fuck he dragged you to a wedding store and you’re also not sure why the fuck you haven’t run screaming in the other direction yet. This place is too fancy and you’ve gotten the idea into your head that the woman will make you buy something should you breathe too hard on it.</p>
<p>She looks intimidating, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Just Propose Marriage Or...?

**Author's Note:**

> Tavros' POV
> 
> This is set in the future part of my dumb Humanstuck AU because why not.  
> And an anon wanted more crossdressing Gamzee.

The whole shop reeks of scented candles and elegant decorations with too much lace and ribbons. It makes your nose itch three steps through the door and you have to hold your breath to not sneeze. It’s colder in here than you expected and you would consider fastening your jacket shut if it weren’t so uncomfortable how it bunches at the underarms. Your boyfriend doesn’t seem affected in the least and you want to shake him.

A woman looks up from her magazine at the two of you, and you’re self-conscious of the way your hand is laced with Gamzee’s. She yells out a greeting to the both of you and motions Gamzee over. Her short hair is electric blue, growing in dark brown and her favourite fashion accessory seems to be spikes. She looks out of place among the gaudy decor in the same way that a member of KISS would had they wandered into that ball from the end of Disney’s Cinderella.

You let go of Gamzee’s hand and stand still with your eyes tightly shut against the wrath of the scented candles, and when you open them again, Gamzee has vanished up the fancy staircase with the blue lady, leaving you to watch as his foot disappears around the corner.

You don’t know why the fuck he dragged you to a wedding store and you’re also not sure why the fuck you haven’t run screaming in the other direction yet. This place is too fancy and you’ve gotten the idea into your head that the woman will make you buy something should you breathe too hard on it.

She looks intimidating, okay?

Following Gamzee seems like the best course of action, so you take the steps at a nervous jog and hope nothing expensive breaks.

You turn the corner and see a large half-circle of wedding dresses to the right and two dressing rooms to the left. One room is occupied, if the thick burgundy curtain is any indication, and the woman is sitting on a velvet stool playing something mindless on her phone.

The candle’s scent doesn’t swirl so thick in the air here. You can inhale and exhale in relative comfort.

"You alright honey?" the blue woman asks, not looking up.

"Yeah, I’m just, not sure what he’s doing."

She raises an eyebrow at her phone. “He’s trying on a dress.”

"I guessed that," you confess, and hope that the conversation is over.

She clicks her tongue, and time stalls until you hear Gamzee call for help with a zipper. The woman glances at you and you don’t know whether to stay frozen or to push aside the curtain and figure out what the zipper issue was yourself just so she would stop looking at you like that.

Turns out, you take too long to decide and she ends up assisting Gamzee.

They come out ten seconds later and the first thing Gamzee does is test out the skirt’s twirl, watching in fascination as it balloons out and flows back down, the elaborate beadwork catching the light like glitter.

"Aha, fuck sis, it’s bitchin’!" he exclaims.

"Yes," says the woman impassively. "It is."

He looks like an excited scarecrow in a wedding dress, with his almost matted hair, ratty sneakers and a-few-hours-old facepaint. You laugh and fail to resist the urge to kiss him.

* * *

You ask him about it later at your apartment while drying the dishes as he washes them. He’s still in the dress, and it’s (miraculously) not filthy, torn, or smeared with facepaint. Yet. It’s a little wet though and if he doesn’t take it off soon you’re going to end up ripping it off him. “Are you trying to tell me something with the dress?”

"Nah, was just for wantin’ a motherfucking wedding dress," he laughs, swirling the bubbles with a spatula, and you feel all your muscles relax for a minute until he says "Might even get the chance someday to be wearing it at a proper-type event," and winks at you.

You choke on your own spit, but recover enough to gasp out “should we pick me out one too?”

You are the smoothest. It is you.


End file.
